


Snowfall

by Umi_no_arawashi



Series: Snowfall verse [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cloud Strife Is So Done, Consent Issues, Domesticity, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Forced Cohabitation, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Advent Children (Compilation of FFVII), Slow Burn, Snow, Top Cloud Strife, Touch-Starved, but no actual non-con, mako starvation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umi_no_arawashi/pseuds/Umi_no_arawashi
Summary: Post Advent children. Sephiroth's body has been found. Scientists promised they could keep him unconscious, weakened, safe. But Sephiroth has never made anything easy, and it falls to Cloud to take care of his worst enemy, now vulnerable and utterly dependent.Cloud had always known it, really, no matter how much he tried to run away from it. They were inextricably linked, the two of them. This was a form of penance for his sins, a punishment that he must have deserved, somehow. It had been a foolish dream, hoping that someone else might take care of this. Because of some horrible twist of fate, Sephiroth was his, and no one else’s.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Series: Snowfall verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936825
Comments: 103
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

Up in Icicle lodge, deep where people used to go to snowboard, back when there had been people in the town still, was a large wooden cabin. Cloud had found it a couple years back and adapted from his personal use. It came in useful when he wanted to be away from Edge, when he needed to be on his own for a little while. It was bare, almost ascetic in its simplicity, and old. It looked like it had stood unclaimed for years, probably even before the fall of Midgar, but despite the passage of time, it had been in a pretty good state when Cloud had found it. There had even been a few pieces of furniture, simple and worn, but still serviceable. He’d barely had to add to it, beyond the equipment he needed for taking care of Fenrir and of his swords and enough supplies that he wouldn’t have to worry about food.

The cabin had two floors. Upstairs, there were three large bedrooms which filled with light on sunny days, with light white washed pine floors and walls. Downstairs, a large library. Whoever had once lived there had loved books, but not much else. There was no decoration, apart from a few traces of paint that had once been flowers but were now worn enough that they barely stood out from the walks, no personal touches that might tell him who this place had once belonged to. There was no electricity. Cloud had debated adding a small generator, but in the end he’d decided against it. A few wood stoves heated the structure, and sweet smelling oil-burning lamps provided all the light he needed. There was a rusty but reliable pump in the simple kitchen as well as in the bathroom, where a deep wooden tub provided creature comforts. 

When Cloud walked in, his steps slow under his heavy load, the house was dark and cold from disuse. He hadn’t been there for more than a year, perhaps more. He walked up the stairs carefully, taking the steps one by one. He was concentrating on each movement he made, on his breathing, on anything apart from what, exactly, he was doing. What he was carrying. With his shoulder, he pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms and laid his burden down on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up, shining in a stray ray of sun that filtered in through the cracks in the wood shutters.

The figure on the bed was immobile. He seemed unconscious, still, although his features were obscured by the cloak Cloud had wrapped around him to protect him from the cold on the ride up to the cabin. For a second, Cloud stood motionless, staring down at the dark shape, and then he shook himself. There were things that needed to be done. Simple, physical tasks, like opening the shutters, building up the fire in the kitchen and lighting the stoves. He sighed.

He moved listlessly between the rooms, trying to keep his mind on his tasks. The upstairs rooms were as he had left them, dusty but usable. A few cobwebs in the corners would have to be swept up, but that could wait. Downstairs, the firewood he’d cut the previous year was still there, dry as a bone. The pump worked, even though it seemed to take longer than usual to get started. The mismatched plates and glasses on the shelf in the kitchen were dusty. He’d have to wipe them down before they could be used, or best, rinse them. He looked at the food in the pantry. Some small rodents had built a nest in there, which would have to be removed, but the food was safe in cans and strong metal boxes.

But his mind kept wandering back to that room upstairs, to that figure on the bed. The doctor had said it would take him a while to emerge. But how long? He had no idea. There was very little point wondering about it, anyway. At some point, it would happen, and then Cloud would have to deal with the consequences of what he’d done.

Cloud worked, as the light from the windows started to dim, until there was nothing left for him to do and couldn’t avoid it any longer. Then, heavy-hearted, he walked back up the stairs, back to that room. He’d opened the shutters and left the door ajar, but all he could see from outside the room were shadows, tainted red by the light of the dying sun. Mechanically, he walked up to the door and pushed it open.

On the bed, Sephiroth was stirring.

Cloud’s breath caught in his throat for a second, but Sephiroth’s eyes were still closed. He wasn’t fully awake yet. He’d pushed the cloak away and was lying on his back now, one arm trailing down to the floor. 

It was impossible to think of this creature as harmless, when every instinct told Cloud to run as far as he could, or else prepare to fight. But there were small signs: the dark circles around fluttering eyes, the slight tremor in the white, elegant hand, as Sephiroth struggled to emerge from unconsciousness. There were a few beads of sweat on his forehead and somehow that felt wrong to Cloud, eerie. A god doesn’t sweat.

He left to get a towel, and when he came back, Sephiroth was awake. He’d pushed himself up, his hair falling around him like a veil. His eyes, still green, but no longer shining, were on Cloud.

“You,” he said. And somehow that word seemed to say it all, all that had happened between them, the horror that had been the last time they’d met. “Of course it would be you.” He laughed, hollowly. “What did you do?”

“I…” Cloud was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how he could even begin to explain. “I couldn’t leave you there,” he said, finally.

“Really?” Sephiroth lips twisted in a small mirthless smile. “I would have guessed you, of all people, would think I belonged in hell.”

“You were in a research facility,” Cloud said, crossing his arms.

“I was in hell,” said Sephiroth with finality. “Are you here to finish what they started? To end my existence? It would be a mercy, after what they did to me.”

The doctor had been right when she’d told Cloud that Sephiroth understood what had happened. “You know, then? What they did?”

“Hmm.” And although Sephiroth sounded more tired than Cloud had ever heard him, there was the hint of a growl in that hum. He shrugged, dismissively. “They’ve crippled me, somehow. They’ve cut me away from…” 

Sephiroth stopped. There was no need to say more. 

Sephiroth’s link to the Lifestream, to the Planet, and more importantly to the alien monstrosity that was his mother had been severed.

They both knew this. Sephiroth must have worked it out, and Cloud knew it in a more intimate way. He’d been there when the decision to do that to Sephiroth had been taken, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been years since the last crisis. Geostigma was finally cured, and, slowly, the world was healing. Cloud started to allow himself to think things might possibly start to get better. That it was over.

Of course, it was wishful thinking. He always knew it, in a corner of his heart, and he got the confirmation soon as he got a call about a strange materia cluster deep in the remains of the North Crater. Some things never stay dead. Some people never stay dead, no matter how much you may want them too.

Some miners had been excavating the ruins of the crater, looking for minerals. But what they found, deep within the mountain, was Sephiroth’s body. They’d thought it was his corpse, until it became obvious that he was, somehow, still alive. 

He was unconscious, but he breathed, slowly, and his heart still beat relentlessly. Perhaps his true body had never been destroyed after all, and this is what they found. Or perhaps he had disappeared and then grown back like some sort of malignant crystal within the deepest confines of the earth. It was unclear. Somehow he’d adapted to pure Mako, the scientists said. It seemed to be his natural element.

But as they studied Sephiroth’s unconscious form, carefully, afraid they might wake him up at every second, the scientists discovered there was something they could do about that. They found a way to modify him, at a genetic level, so that this link to the Lifestream would no longer work. It was a matter of isolating which parts of his were closest to Jenova, and disabling them, something that Cloud never really understood beyond the fact it involved enzymes and complex operations with RNA.

According to the scientists, Sephiroth could be managed, that way. He’d be weak - there was no magical way to make him purely human again. He’d never been human, really, even as an embryo. And this was an amputation, as brutal and definitive as cutting off a leg to stop a prisoner from escaping. Although in this case, what they were trying to control was the worst threat the planet had ever known. 

And the alternative… The alternative was to try to destroy him once more, taking advantage of the fact he was unconscious. There was some logic in that, even though some people worried he might wake up if he found himself in mortal danger. The scientists, however, said it was much too risky. Even if they did manage to kill him, something of him might return to the Lifestream, the way it already had. And something new, something worse, might regrow, and not be found until it was too late to do anything about it. Until Sephiroth was fully conscious and able to fight.

The small, ad hoc committee that had arisen to take care of the problem - dear friends and old enemies, once again united in this fight - had discussed the matter for days. The only thing most of them seemed to agree upon was that the entire operation should be subject to Cloud’s approval. They deferred to him, as though the fact he’d defeated this being twice gave him some sort of expertise. 

The only dissenting opinion had been Rufus Shinra’s. He'd argued, of course, that this ought to be taken care of by the (newly improved, environmentally conscious and ethical) Shinra Company, but he’d been unanimously overruled. Rufus’ opinion was that Sephiroth ought to be destroyed, by any means necessary, no matter what the scientists’ theories were.

Cloud listened to the endless arguments until his head began to hurt and finally, reluctantly, had given his opinion. It seemed to him the scientists were right. Sephiroth did seem to gain more power every time he returned to the Lifestream. But the truth was he didn’t know, really. All he knew was that he wanted nothing to do with it. And sometimes, he thought it might have been cowardice more than logic that led him to weigh in on the scientists’ side. A kind of crushing exhaustion had settled on him when he’d first heard the news, and kept grinding on his nerves. Not again, a small, petty side of him kept saying. Let someone else deal with him. I’ve done all I could. Why should this be my responsibility and no one else’s? 

He hadn’t even wanted to see him. What was the point? He gave his opinion, and Sephiroth, still unconscious, was transported in an armoured helicopter to an old Shinra research facility whose security was being reinforced as best they could. Cloud had been on board, near the sealed metal coffin-like box that held his worst enemy, just in case, but nothing happened. The box remained closed, the voyage was uneventful, and Cloud left.

Sephiroth still slept. This had been one of the conditions everyone at the table had agreed upon. That no matter how sure the scientists were that Sephiroth was now harmless, he should be kept unconscious, at all times. That seemed the simplest way to ensure nothing could possibly go wrong.

But of course, in the end, something had gone wrong. Or at least something was wrong enough that the head doctor in the facility had called Cloud, directly, asking for his presence. And he had been forced to go there, to that horrible sterile place, with its stink of chemicals that reminded him of Hojo and pain. 

He’d walked in, his jaw clenched, a sick, falling sensation in his stomach, and followed the doctor to a small, computer filled room with a large window, its glass slightly dimmed by the telltale sheen of bulletproof reinforcements. That window looked into a large, sterile room, with medical equipment and what looked like an operating table.

And that’s where he’d seen Sephiroth.

He didn't know what he had expected. Something closer to the monstrous form he’d fought in the end, when Meteor was about to strike. Something twisted and deformed. Or something uncertain and fractured, like those remnants had been, a pale shadow of a being too terrifying to comprehend.

But when he looked through the glass of the observation room, as Dr Norr, the scientist responsible for the facility, had called it, what he saw in that brightly lit room on that clinically cold table was the perfect shape of Sephiroth as he’d been before. A creature of unearthly beauty, yet human. He was exposed, his long, muscled limbs bare, his pale skin almost glowing in the fluorescent light. His long skein of white hair unspooled around him, spilling almost onto the floor. There were plastic tubes hooked to the veins in his arms, unknown liquid flowing through them. Harsh-looking restrains, shackle-like, circled his wrists and ankles.

There was something obscene about seeing him so revealed, so defenseless. Cloud looked away almost immediately. This was not something he wanted to see. It felt wrong.

“Does he have to be kept chained up?”, he asked Dr Norr. It seemed unnecessarily barbaric, when Sephiroth was being kept unconscious either way. 

“We’ve had to put in place some special protocols,” she replied. “There have been some issues.” She sighed. “In fact, this is why I’ve called you.”

“What happened?” said Cloud, between clenched teeth.

“We’ve detected very strange spikes of neuronal activity, especially whenever he's in close contact with any kind of materia. It’s… well, it’s hard to explain. Could you please come have a look at this?”

She sat at one of the computers, and brought up an image, dated a few days earlier. It appeared to show the same room he’d just looked, Sephiroth tied with those same loathsome chains, eyes closed. Cloud frowned. 

“One of our technicians didn’t realise he was still carrying a scan materia on him, and walked into the room,” Norr explained. “Do you see it?”

She zoomed in. Cloud felt himself grow cold, suddenly. There, near the floor, caught by the camera as it fluttered down, was a single black feather.

Clouds eyes went wide in shock. The image of Sephiroth descending in the sky of the ruins of Midgar appeared to him, almost as violently as the visions that had assaulted him when he first came back from Nibelheim. The angel of destruction, smiling evilly, beautiful and devastating. Cloud’s hand clutched his side reflexively, as though he could still feel the cold steel of the Masamune sliding through him.

“This is proof of my theory,” said Norr. “I’ve been saying for months we’re doing more harm than good by keeping him sedated. You see, I believe that this… manifestation, or whatever you wish to call it, is some sort of deep limbic response. I think it’s only possible because he was in a medically induced coma. I haven’t yet been able to publish my research, naturally,” she continued, her tone rising in animation, “but actually in more conscious states, he has never shown any signs of this. In fact, the separation from the life stream seems total. He’s quite incapable of any magic use, and there are absolutely no signs of any kind of mutation such as the one we...”

Cloud frowned. “Wait. He’s been conscious?” 

“Yes.” She shrugged. “Well, what can I say? Science isn’t perfect. We didn’t know how much sedation we needed to keep him under. And remember, his body is highly atypical, even now. In fact, he’s been conscious a few times.”

“This… was not what was agreed on. “

“You have to understand, though, Mr Strife, this is uncharted territory. We don’t know everything.”

“This has to stop, now, you understand?” Cloud’s fists had clenched without him realising it. 

“No, Mr Strife. You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” She pushed her glasses back up with one finger. “He’s actually much less dangerous awake. The operation was a success. He’s extremely weak. Almost completely physically dependent, in fact. His mind seems in perfect order, however. I’ve spoken with him, and...”

“You spoke to him?”

“Oh, yes.” Norr nodded. “He was disorientated, but he seemed highly intelligent. He seemed to understand where he was. Emotionally, he seemed… well, angry, I suppose, which is to be expected. But sane enough. In fact, to be honest, I was expecting him to be much more confused than he was. His memory, in particular, seems to be functioning well. And you see, this is of particular interest to me. Memories, even though this isn’t his original body! This is a major scientific discovery, Mr Strife! I don’t know whether you realise, but this confirms perfectly my theory about the Lifestream being able to store past experiences.”

Well, I could have told you that, thought Cloud. It was strange, really, how little science actually knew about the Lifestream. It didn’t seem to stop them playing with it.

“He’s really quite exceptional, you know.” Norr smiled. She had a strange look in her eyes, almost fond. “We didn’t have to tell him what had been done to him. He figured it out himself. Well, not the technical aspects, of course… Those are quite fascinating in and of themselves. I’ve written several papers on it, in fact, I’m merely waiting for the opportunity to publish. We’ve basically had to shut down half his DNA. Anything we identified as l foreign. Well, mostly. It’s not that simple with him. This is why he’s so weak now, even when fully awake. The way he is now, he needs mako to function properly, and we’ve successfully blocked his ability to absorb it. He reacts to it, though. Direct contact with a materia tends to agitate him, but he most definitely can’t use it. Even if I handed him the Ultima materia and stood defenseless in front of him, there’s nothing he could do to me!”

“Anyway.” She coughed, as though she thought she’d gone too far. “The point is that I strongly believe keeping him in a coma will risk undoing all the work we’ve done with the genetic dampening, if that feather manifestation is anything to go by. I don’t understand how that could happen, and it worries me. We’ve seen strange patterns emerge from his brain waves when he’s fully unconscious. Hang on, I’ll show you.” She pulled Cloud by the arm, pulling him toward a row of computers.

“See?” She brought up some charts on the screen. “This is a reading from his brain from before the operation, when he was in some kind of regenerative trance. See the bottom pattern? That’s what I’ve identified as the J-wave. Jenova wave.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “This will all be in my paper, of course. This goes well beyond what Hojo was able to find out, by the way. He was never able to isolate it fully. But we’ve succeeded. I’ve succeeded, really.”

Cloud had known from the start this was going to happen. He’d agreed to the plan because he’d hoped, in a very small and selfish way, that perhaps this time, he’d be spared. That he could go on trying to repair what was left of his life and not, for once, have to bear the destiny of the world on his shoulders. But giving Sephiroth to scientists… of course that had been a mistake.

“Now, look at this,” continued Norr, completely oblivious to the dread growing steadily within Cloud. “This is after our intervention. Left is unconscious, right is awake. See? There’s no sign of the J-wave when he’s awake. But when he’s out… At first, I thought it was background noise, but it keeps coming back. It’s very faint, barely detectable, but distinct. As I said, I’m worried.”

“The thing is, though,” she continued, “he doesn’t seem to be in a state to pose any kind of danger to us awake. So…” she cleared her throat. “This is why I called you here, Mr Strife. I need your approval to make a few changes, and I thought it best to talk to you first before going to the committee. I propose that we keep him here, but fully conscious. It wouldn’t necessitate that many changes. We already have constant surveillance on him. There’s very little we need to add in terms of security, since he is perfectly harmless. We’ll make him… well, as comfortable as possible. And think of what we could learn! This is an unique opportunity. He’s… fascinating. Exceptional.”

An opportunity. Her eyes were positively glowing now. This was all they were ever going to be to people like her. Test subjects. Lab rats, to be studied.

Cloud’s mind had been made here and then. “No. you’re not keeping him.”

“What do you mean?” she said, startled. She seemed genuinely incredulous, like she wasn’t sure she’d understood him properly. 

“I’m taking him away. I’m leaving with him.” 

She stared at him. “But… but that’s… you can’t!”

“I can. I was given total control over this whole thing, if I remember correctly.” Cloud got up. “Open this door. I’m taking him now.”

She took one step forward, standing between Cloud and the door, and crossed her arms. “No! You can’t! I… I have a whole research project planned around him!” Her voice faltered.

“Open this door now, or I’ll break it down.”

“But… What will I tell Mr Shinra? This is his facility!”

“He’s not in charge of this. I am.”

“He’s the one paying!”

“That does not give him any authority,” said Cloud with finality. “Now move.” 

He pushed her to the side, gently. She tried to resist, but of course there was little she could do. She ended up following him as he strode into the room. A few young-looking scientists, in lab coats, looked up in alarm.

“Take those restraints off.” he commanded, staring at the floor. Somehow, even though his resolve was strong, he still couldn’t make himself look at the white figure on the table. 

There were a few gasps of surprise around the room. A young man with reddish hair walked up to Cloud, a defiant look in his eyes. “You… you can’t do that! We won’t help you!”

“Take them off, or I’ll tear them off,” said Cloud.

“Do what he says,” sighed Norr. “This is Mr Strife. He’s in charge. Apparently, he’ll be taking care of the specimen now.”

“But… what about our research?” stammered the red-haired man.

“Now,” said Cloud, and his tone was perhaps more forceful than he intended, because the young man recoiled at that, as though he’d been hit. Cloud felt a vague twinge of remorse.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t hurt me.” 

His hand was trembling as he fumbled with the locks. “There. I hope you’re happy.” He looked at him, lips pinched. “I suppose you want me to unhook the IV as well? You realise he’ll wake  
up eventually, if I do that, don’t you?”

Cloud nodded. He forced his eyes to drift to the figure on the table. “Why is he naked? Don’t you have clothes for him?”

“Not much.” He shrugged as he skilfully removed the needles from Sephiroth’s skin. “There’s no need to keep him dressed. He’s unconscious anyway. It would just interfere with our care. We have better access this way.”

Of course. Why would you need to dress a lab rat, after all? To people like them, this was merely an interesting specimen, not a being deserving of privacy. Cloud struggled to control the anger that was steadily rising within him.

“Find something,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Now.”

Norr sighed dramatically and picked out some things from a shelf while the young scientists unhooked Sephiroth’s body from various machines. “There,” she said, holding out a few items of clothing. “That’s all we have, for now. A dressing gown and some trousers. We needed to have them specially made, you know. He’s.. tall.” Her tone was vaguely apologetic. “And just so you know, I was going to have some more clothes shipped in if we were going to keep him awake. We’re not monsters, no matter what you think!” 

Cloud didn’t answer her. “Help me dress him.”

Silently, the scientists helped cover Sephiroth up. Cloud still found himself avoiding to look at Sephiroth’s bare skin. There was something abhorrent in that perfect body limp as a corpse, utterly defenceless. He was heavy - he seemed to have the same powerful build as ever, his long limbs showing well-defined muscle, his chest and back broad as ever. How was that even possible, when he probably hadn’t been allowed to move since they found him? But, then again, nothing about Sephiroth’s physiology made sense.

The hospital clothes were flimsy, noted Cloud as he worked. A plan was slowly taking shape in his mind, a plan that involved taking Sephiroth somewhere remote, somewhere cold. He’d have to think of something. 

Finally, Sephiroth was dressed, and Norr sighed, surveying their work. “I suppose you’ll want his files?” she said. “We have everything, every file Hojo ever had on him. And what we found, of course..”

She rummaged within a drawer and handed him a drive. “Here you go. I’ve removed the password.” She stared at Cloud, her tone accusatory. “I hope you realised you’ve ruined my career plan with all this. Now who knows if I’ll make tenure... How are we supposed to publish now?”

Cloud just stared at her.

She shrugged. “Ah, well. Maybe… it’s for the best. I’m not sure I would have been able to maintain total objectivity. I was starting to feel… sorry for him, to be honest.”

Cloud didn’t even bother replying. He hooked his arms around Sephiroth and lifted him carefully off the table. Sephiroth’s size, more than his weight, was going to make this difficult. He’d have to find a way to hold him upright all the way. That meant driving Fenrir one-handed. Not easy, but not impossible. 

He heard some of the young scientists gasp as he carried Sephiroth out, stunned at his ease. All of them studied mako, and yet they had so little idea what it could actually do. That had always been the problem. But wasn’t that what humans did, what they’d always done? They fumbled in the dark, playing with forces much greater than themselves, hoping for the best.

And one day, there was a price to pay. Cloud knew that this time again he’d have to be the one to shoulder this burden. He’d always known it, really, no matter how much he tried to run away from it. They were inextricably linked, the two of them. This was a form of penance for his sins, a punishment that he must have deserved, somehow. It had been a foolish dream, hoping that someone else might take care of this. Because of some horrible twist of fate, Sephiroth was his, and no one else’s. 

Somehow, he would manage. He knew exactly where to take him. No one else knew about his snow cabin, after all, not even Tifa, so the others would be safe, far away. He had no idea what this would be like, but he’d find out soon enough.

Without another word, Cloud walked out of the lab, never once looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful response! Nothing has even really happened yet... You guys are the best. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There's still a while to go, and it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. But it will get better.

After that first brief moment of consciousness, Sephiroth sank quickly back down into a semi-conscious state. The few words they’d exchanged seemed to have exhausted his strength. As soon as he’d finished speaking, he closed his eyes, and settled back - or fell, to be precise, onto the pillow.

For several hours, Cloud stayed close to him. Sephiroth seemed feverish, tossing in the bed as though dreaming, his long hair sticking to his clammy skin. There was little Cloud could do, apart from dabbing sweat away from his forehead. He didn’t even have a simple Cure materia with him. These days, he kept as little magic with him as possible, because he felt he’d had enough of using forces that should have stayed beyond the reach of humanity. But now he felt helpless, watching Sephiroth. Perhaps he’d made the wrong choice taking him away, after all. Perhaps once again he’d made some fatal mistake. It was a hard thought to chase away.

Things seemed to quiet down as night crept closer. Outside, there was almost complete silence. Snow has started falling, even though it was still early in the season, and the world was slowly turning white, falling into a still darkness as the sun disappeared slowly beyond the horizon.

The stove was working well. The room was warm. Sephiroth’s laboured breathing seemed to settle down, his spastic movements to ease down into something like sleep.

Clumsily, Cloud made an attempt to repair the disarray of the bedclothes. He felt as though he sought to brush away the matted, sweat-drenched hair clinging to Sephiroth’s forehead, to his high, well defined cheekbones, but he felt oddly reluctant. He’d felt that hair before, cold and smooth as flowing water, flowing past him as Sephiroth skewered him mercilessly. His fingers trembled with the memory as they hovered uncertainly above Sephiroth’s skin.

At that precise second, Sephiroth’s eyes flew open, and Cloud flinched back, startled. They seemed to flutter for a second, before finally focusing on Cloud. He felt pinned by that stare, like a butterfly on a corkboard. There was something he should say, perhaps, but he didn’t know what. Cloud stared into those pale, green eyes until Sephiroth finally broke the silence.

“Why am I here?” he asked, his tone even, as though he was merely resuming their previous conversation.

“I… couldn’t leave you there.” Cloud's throat felt dry. “It was too dangerous.”

Sephiroth smiled, humourlessly. “I’m too dangerous, you mean.”

“You…” Cloud could find no way to finish that sentence, not with those eyes piercing his very soul. He let his words die half-formed on his lips.

Sephiroth blinked once, slowly. It made Cloud think of a cat, with those oval pupils of his. “So why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“I…” Cloud stopped. He couldn’t possibly explain that keeping Sephiroth alive was just a means of keeping him weak. “I can’t,” he said simply.

“Right now?” Again, that ghost of a smile. “I think you could manage.” Sephiroth raised a hand, studied his own trembling fingers with an almost curious look. “I don’t think I could put up much of a fight.”

“I won’t.” Cloud shook his head. “I have my reasons.”

“Reasons?” Sephiroth laughed, mirthlessly, a dry, harsh sound. “What possible reasons could you have to let me live? Don’t you know what I am?”

Cloud couldn’t find a way to answer that. Instead, he asked: “What do you remember?”

Sephiroth closed his eyes for a second as though deep in thought. 

“Everything.” he said finally, the word heavy as lead.

“Even… after our fight at the Northern crater?”

Sephiroth seemed to stop to think again. “I remember… many things. Moments. I’m not sure all were mine. But I remember Nibelheim. The north crater. I remember fighting you, again and again. And that for one moment, in the ruins of Midgar, it felt like I was going to win.”

His lips curled up in a smile again. “I remember the hatred in your eyes. I remember wanting to destroy you like I’ve never wanted anything before.” His eyes held that cruel, mocking expression that Cloud remembered so well.

“You didn’t.” Cloud clenched his fists. “I won. I won,” he croaked, holding on to the words as though to a mantra.

“Clearly,” said Sephiroth dryly. He closed his eyes again, as though exhausted 

Cloud, too, felt great tiredness crush him. He slumped forward in his chair and stared at his folded hands.

“Look…” he said. “I don’t know how this is going to work, exactly. But I’ll take care of you. Watch you. I think… I’m responsible for you.” He looked up into Sephiroth’s pale green eyes. “Our fates are linked. They’ve always been.”

“Hmpf. You flatter yourself,” scoffed Sephiroth. But he seemed slightly uncertain. After all, hadn’t he told Cloud this himself, so many times? They were linked. Cloud was nothing without him. 

Neither of them had anticipated they would come to this, however.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Cloud. “There is no other choice. This is where we stand, now. You’ll stay here. I’ll.. stay here as well. Watch over you. Make sure nothing happens. This… this isn’t my choice. This is just the way it has to be.” Saying it out loud felt like a great weight settling on his shoulders, like drowning in an abyss.

Sephiroth let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. “Better to be a prisoner than a lab rat, I guess,” he said, with a hint of humour.

Which one of them was the prisoner, though, thought Cloud? As much as he tried not to reflect on the unfathomable consequences of his decision, some things were hard to ignore. He’d lost so much: the normal life he’d finally allowed himself to hope he might have, the people he was leaving behind. Denzel. Tifa. She’d be furious when she would learn what he had done. But this was his fate. His duty. He’d never been free, not really, he’d merely pretended for a few years. And now the fates were playing with him once again.

Sephiroth’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “My throat is dry. Could I trouble you for some water?” There was a hint of mocking humour in his tone, as though there was something comical in having to ask for something from Cloud, instead of ordering.

Cloud said nothing, just got up to fetch him a glass.

*

When he came back up, predictably, Sephiroth was gone.

The bed was in disarray, empty. The cloak Cloud had wrapped Sephiroth in during the ride here was gone. The window was open.

Cloud struggled with a sudden impulse to throw the glass, to smash it to the ground. Of course.  
What did he expect? When had Sephiroth ever made anything easy? He should have anticipated this, that even weakened, Sephiroth would somehow find a way to ruin even the simplest plan. Anger, white hot and burning, was rising within Cloud.

He looked out the window, into the dark, snow-filled night. There was a dark shape on the ground, half buried in snow. Sephiroth had probably barely been able to stand. It was already a miracle he’d managed to get to the window. What he’d expected to do then, Cloud had no idea.

For a second, he thought of leaving him down there, to freeze in the snow, and there was a kind of savage joy in that. And yet, of course, he couldn’t. He breathed, trying to calm himself, trying to will himself to do what he had to do, and slowly trudged back down the stairs.

It was bitterly cold outside. Sephiroth didn’t seem hurt, but he seemed unconscious again. His skin was cold. Good, thought Cloud, viciously.

He dragged rather than carried Sephiroth back upstairs, fought an urge to slap him awake. Finally, he let himself shake him hard, once, twice, until Sephiroth’s eyes fluttered open once more. Cloud let him fall back to the bed.

“If you do that again…” he hissed.

Sephiroth coughed, and laughed once, weakly. “You’ll do what?” He croaked. “Kill me? The cold would have done that. You should have let it.”

“Listen, you bastard,” snapped Cloud. “You will stay here. You will do what I tell you. You can’t survive alone and I won’t waste my time like this again. If you don’t behave, I will chain you to this bed. Is that what you want?” He grabbed Sephiroth’s wrist in illustration, perhaps too hard. Anger was roiling like a storm within him.

Sephiroth’s eyes went wide with shock. He pulled his arm away and Cloud let go immediately, a little ashamed at himself.

Sephiroth sat back and looked at his arm. He seemed puzzled, or perhaps surprised. Could it be that Cloud had hurt him? He hadn’t squeezed hard enough to do any damage, he didn’t think. But Sephiroth now seemed oddly subdued. 

“You’ll stay here,” said Cloud again, even though the venom had left his voice. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Sephiroth quietly, still looking at his wrist with something like wonder.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for liking the story so far! It's really wonderful to be able to share this with you.  
> A warning in this chapter, though, for hate sex and violence. I've updated the tags to reflect this (and a few future developments). More tags to be added later.

Sephiroth didn’t try to leave again that night. Cloud brought him some food that he barely touched. They didn’t exchange a word, even though Cloud didn’t leave the room. Cloud barely even looked at him. But sometimes he felt Sephiroth’s eyes on him, with that same odd quizzical expression in them.

He stayed all night, just in case, curled up in an old leather armchair, but Sephiroth merely slept. His sleep was restless, though, agitated, as though he was having bad dreams. It was strange to think of what this man, who had been at the heart of every nightmare Cloud had had for years, could possibly dream about. Nightmares shouldn’t dream.

The morning brought with it a new series of difficulties and a new kind of embarrassment. Sephiroth had some natural physical needs that somehow Cloud hadn’t thought to plan for. Try as he might, he couldn’t make himself think of Sephiroth as anything other than some magical apparition, not bound by the laws of humanity. 

Even when Cloud had been around him in the field of duty, before Sephiroth ascended to true inhumanity, he’d been so remote, so wrapped in glory and legend, that he hadn’t seemed human to Cloud. 

Zack, First Class though he was, had seemed accessible, warm, real. But by the time Cloud first saw Sephiroth, he’d admired him for so long from afar that it felt unreal. At first, he could no more bear to look at him directly than one would look at the sun. Part of that had been his childish crush on the great Shinra hero, of course. But there was also something about Sephiroth’s aura even back then that marked him as different, remote. Even in the close quarters of war, he kept to himself, aloof, untouchable.

Helping him down to the bathroom, therefore, seemed surreal. Sephiroth couldn’t walk well unaided, so Cloud slipped an arm under his shoulder to prop him up. He could feel the warmth of Sephiroth’s skin through the flimsy clothes and tried hard not to think about that. 

Sephiroth, on the other hand, seemed to shudder, recoil, almost, every time their skins came in contact. Again, Cloud wondered if perhaps he merely hated being touched. It seemed very possible. Cloud himself, after Hojo, had taken ages to learn to accept the touch of another human being. And if what he knew was true, Sephiroth had spent his human life being subjected to Hojo’s twisted experiments. 

He tidied up listlessly downstairs, aimlessly, as Sephiroth made use of the bathroom, trying to stay in earshot in case he was needed. The boiler for the warm water was working properly, so Sephiroth would be able to wash if he so wished. Cloud felt his cheeks redden at the thought, as though he was still the small, infatuated infantry man he’d once been, hormonal and horny, looking at posters of the great general and trying, confusedly, to picture what he might look like naked.

It was absurd, he tried to tell himself. Absurd and puerile. After all that had happened, this stupid crush should have been well and truly burnt out of his system.

He tried to distract himself by looking for clothes. None of Cloud’s clothes could possibly fit Sephiroth, but even though Barrett had never set foot in the cabin, Cloud had some of his clothes in an old travel pack, a remnant of one of their many trips together. He’d meant to take them back some day, and forgot. In terms of height, the clothes would fit, even though the two men were shaped very differently. He took out khaki combat trousers, underwear, worn but clean, a black tshirt. It looked nothing like the belted leather that he’d always seen Sephiroth wear, but it would have to do, at least for now.

He’d been so deep in his thought that he jumped when Sephiroth, suddenly, called.“Come here, Cloud” he said, his voice deep, his tone imperious as ever.

Hesitantly, Cloud pushed open the bathroom door. The room was foggy with steam. The smell of soap was in the air. 

Sephiroth was standing, naked, in the middle of the room, a strange expression on his face.

Cloud felt himself turn crimson, helplessly. He could only hope he didn’t look half as flustered as he felt. He tried to look anywhere but at the white, clean, naked flesh in front of him. “What do you want?” he said, trying to keep his tone even.

“I have a theory I want to test,” said Sephiroth, taking a step towards him. Reflexively, Cloud took a step backwards. In that moment, Sephiroth didn’t look weakened. He looked just as threatening, as terrifying, as he had done in their last encounter. Cloud’s back hit the wall.

Sephiroth moved again, until he was very close, so close Cloud could see the tiny beads of water still clinging to those white, hairless shoulders.

“What… what theory is that?” asked Cloud. His throat felt dry. He couldn’t move. He felt like a rabbit, mesmerised, frozen in place helplessly in front of a snake.

“Shh,” said Sephiroth, and he moved still closer, eyes half closed. He had a strange expression, almost a kind of hunger, as though he was seeking something. “You reek of mako,” he murmured. Cloud shuddered. 

Sephiroth smiled and, leaning forward, closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Cloud’s.

Cloud felt his heart stop. He couldn’t move. Sephiroth’s lips parted, his tongue darting once, furtively, licking Cloud’s bottom lip as though he was tasting his skin. 

Cloud tried to push him away - this was too strange, too sudden, there was something wrong about it that he couldn’t name - but his hands, once they landed on the hard, warm flesh of Sephiroth’s shoulders, wouldn’t let go. Instead of pushing Sephiroth away, he felt himself pull him in, closer, and Sephiroth _yielded_ , seeming to soften under him until they were both on the ground, until it was Sephiroth’s back against the wall and Cloud pressing him there. 

And instead of resisting, Sephiroth’s long white hands reached up to cup the side of Cloud’s face, pulling him even closer. Cloud’s pulse beat thunderously in his ears. He felt in shock, entranced. This was wrong, he tried to tell himself, so very wrong, this was a monster, a murderer, a demon. He still felt in his very bones the echo of this man’s blade skewering him, his lifeblood poured out of him, and yet this was what he’d dreamed of for so long it was impossible to resist.

Sephiroth felt so real, solid under him, his lips warm, smooth as silk, and much softer than Cloud had ever dreamed. When Cloud had imagined, in the deepest, loneliest hours of the night, what that Sephiroth’s skin could feel like, his mind always conjured up the feel of cold marble, of frozen ice, unyielding, grainless. The real thing was utterly different, and there was something heartrendingly beautiful in this softness, this warmth, like a God made flesh. 

All he wanted was to give in further, to make Sephiroth his, to claim him, to take him. To burrow himself within him, make him writhe under him. Cloud ached, ached with want, and yet.

Something was wrong. Something felt strange. Where their skin touched, there was an odd sensation, an odd pull. It felt a little like the energy that would flow out of him when he cast a materia, the same gentle drain, as though something was being transferred between them.

And then, suddenly, it clicked. This was what Sephiroth wanted, of course. Mako-starved and aching, he’d found that somehow, Cloud’s touch could transfer some of it to him. It made sense, of course, Cloud was so infused with mako his eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Yet somehow, he hadn’t thought of that, when the doctor had spoken of Sephiroth’s sensitivity, his need for mako.

As if to confirm Cloud’s thoughts, Sephiroth made a sound halfway between a growl and a purr, a sound of pure satisfaction, of satiation, before pressing his lips back to Cloud’s, wildly, with total abandon.

Stunned, Cloud pulled back, breaking the kiss. Anger flashed for a second in Sephiroth’s eyes, sudden enough that Cloud wondered if he’d imagined it.

“What are you doing?” asked Cloud in a whisper.

“Nothing,” said Sephiroth, shaking his head with a smile. He entwined his arms around Cloud’s neck, his smile slow, seductive, his eyes heavy-lidded with something that looked almost exactly like desire. “Nothing at all. Come here. Just...” he breathed, his voice like velvet, pulling Cloud on top of him. “Touch me. Please…” 

It felt as impossible to resist as the pull of gravity. For a second, he thought he might let go, play along, give in to this seduction, no matter what the reason for it was. 

But everything was wrong, twisted, unbelievably perverted. There was something almost triumphant in Sephiroth’s eyes now as he pulled Cloud even closer, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“No,” said Cloud, pulling away. “I won’t.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed for a second, and then he smiled, again, openly, disarmingly. A warm, almost playful smile. An expression Cloud had never seen on that face. 

“Why not?”, purred Sephiroth in his ear, so close Cloud felt the puff of air caress his neck. “I know how long you’ve wanted this…”

Cloud felt a shock at those words, as though he’d suddenly touched a live wire. He had never, for a second, imagined that Sephiroth had the slightest idea of what Cloud felt for him. It was unthinkable, unbearable, to have this mortal weakness laid bare.

“What?” he whispered.

“I’m not blind,” said Sephiroth with a soft chuckle. He stroked Cloud’s hair once, gently. Cloud trembled. “I remember you looking at me, when you were a recruit. From that very first day, I could tell. You wanted me. You aren’t that hard to read, soldier…”

Sephiroth’s voice had taken on a carefully modulated tone that was deeply familiar. A tone Cloud treasured still, the voice of the general who had led him into battle, the hero he’d always wanted to be, strict but kind, attentive to everything, even a lowly infantry man’s wellbeing. The voice of the man he’d once believed he would gladly die for.

“I saw how you looked at me. I felt it, Cloud…” Sephiroth said, voice soft, low and warm. “And I liked it.” That last sentence, whispered against his ear, was almost enough to make Cloud’s heart stop. “I wanted you, too. I wanted to feel you against me. I wanted to be yours, all yours.” His smile was warm, too, lips parted, in their excruciating softness, inviting, yielding, seductive beyond belief, and Cloud wanted to believe those words so badly that he almost gave in.

But then Cloud saw his eyes.

In his eyes was a coldness. A calculating gleam in those emerald eyes with their cat-like pupils, slightly unfocused as though half drunk on mako. 

Cloud pulled back suddenly. “You’re lying!” he growled. “You bastard, you’re lying!” 

A flicker of rage distorted Sephiroth’s perfect features, tearing through the carefully constructed illusion. “And?” he sneered, his tone cold, now that his ruse has been discovered. “Does it matter? This is what you want, isn’t?” He pressed himself against Cloud. “You want me. Take me. I’m giving myself to you. I want you.”

“I know what you want, and it isn’t me.” Cloud was trying to keep his voice steady.

Once again, rage, impotent rage, flashed in Sephiroth’s eyes. “Come on,” he taunted, his voice cold, cruel, now. “Take me. Why not? I know you still want me. I can see right through you, Cloud. Each time we fought, I saw it. No matter how I hurt you. No matter who I killed.”

“Shut up!”

“I destroyed your hometown, killed all that were dear to you. I hurt your pathetic friends… I killed the Cetra girl, and still, you wanted me…” 

“Shut up, I said!” Cloud felt his hands close around Sephiroth’s throat, seeking to stop those words somehow. Sephiroth smiled, his pupils wide with pleasure at the mako flowing into him at the contact of his hands. For a moment, all Cloud wanted to do was keep squeezing, until it was all over. Rage filled him, a righteous, absolute, blinding anger unlike anything he’d ever felt. He let go of Sephiroth's neck, panting. 

The worst thing was that he was right. Of course he was. Cloud still wanted him, would always want him. It was this curse. He wanted this cold, white monster, he wanted to be inside him, he wanted to make him writhe, to make him his, nmatter the cost. In hatred, in blood, if there was no other way. To make those eyes fill with pleasure, fear, tears, anything but the cold calculated amusement that was always there. To take him violently, tear him open, spend himself inside this frigid statue and make it feel something real for once, even if it was only pain, and fear, and horror. To carve his name into the white perfection of that skin. 

He found his own hands tearing at his clothes, ripping them away as though moving of their own volition, Sephiroth hands pulling him closer and closer, kissing him again and again. On his throat, the imprint of Cloud’s hands stood out, bright red.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” hissed Cloud. There was no answer this time, just that loathsome triumphant smile. Roughly, Cloud pushed Sephiroth’s onto the floor, flipped him over, and Sephiroth let him, encouraged him, parting his legs, back arched, face buried in the crook of his elbow in a parody of seduction. Cloud caught a fistful of that unearthly bone-white hair, pulling Sephiroth close to his body, pressing that broad back hard against his own chest. He barely registered the mewling sound of need Sephiroth made as their bodies made contact.

One hand still twisted tightly in Sephiroth's hair, he reached down, pushing two fingers roughly inside. It was too tight, too dry, but this was never going to be pleasant anyway, and spit would have to do because he sure as hell wasn't going to stop now. He pushed himself inside roughly, blind with anger, driving towards his climax as though it would finally give him some peace.

There was a darkness. It almost felt as though he had passed out. And maybe he had, somehow, the act had been so violent. He felt sick. Horrified. 

Sephiroth was on the floor next to him, half curled in a ball, his face buried in his arms with his long hair spread fanlike around his head. He was panting harshly. Cloud couldn’t bear to look at him, to look at what he had done. He gathered his clothes blindly. He needed to get out. He needed to be outside, far, far away.


	5. Chapter 5

Cloud rode Fenrir through the mountains for hours, fast, so fast that all thought became impossible and everything was pure reflex, his muscles acting of their own volition to avoid crashing on the icy, winding roads.

When he finally stopped, his entire body ached with pent up tension. Somehow, he’d ended back up at the cabin. It looked so peaceful from the outside, nestled in the snow. There was a light shining in one of the downstairs rooms.

He walked in and put down the sword he’d grabbed without even realising when leaving. He didn’t even know why. He hadn’t encountered the smallest creature out there.

The house was quiet.

Cloud tried to suppress the guilt and shame rising in him. It was pointless. He couldn’t indulge in them. He’d indulged his feelings enough by running away the way he did.

It was time to face what he’d done. He had to find Sephiroth. Perhaps he was hurt. Perhaps he needed help. After all, Cloud was so much stronger than he was, now, strong enough to break him, if he chose. A wave of self-loathing washed through him at the thought. 

There was no sign of disarray anywhere. He walked to the bathroom first, afraid he’d find Sephiroth still sitting there, curled up on himself and looking more broken than Cloud had ever seen him, but the room was empty. It was dark, quiet. There was not a trace of what had happened there. The clothes he’d laid out were gone.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Cloud closed the door. He kept walking, turning left into the downstairs corridor. There was a light flickering from the door at the end, the light he’d seen from outside. It came from the library. Cloud couldn’t remember if he’d been the one to light it in the morning or not. Hesitantly, he walked towards it.

Sephiroth was sitting in the library, reading. He was in one of the two tall leather armchairs, a thick book on his lap, one elbow on the armrest, his head resting on his hand. He was wearing Barrett’s clothes. They were slightly too large, too loose, and somehow Barrett’s old ratty tshirt now looked oddly elegant, draped over Sephiroth’s frame.

Dust floated through the air, shining in the golden light from the oil-lamp on the side table. 

Nonchalantly, Sephiroth raised his left hand and turned over a page.

“You’re back,” he remarked, without raising his eyes from his book.

“I…” Cloud stopped. What could he say? He didn’t even know where to start.

Sephiroth kept reading, still as a statue. The light caught in his hair, giving it a warmer hue than usual, white gold rather than silver.

Cloud took a deep breath. “I… What I did, I…”

“Yes?” said Sephiroth, finally looking up. He sounded faintly annoyed, as though resenting the interruption.

“It was inexcusable. I’m… I’m sorry.” He knew there was a lot more he had to say, but he couldn’t find the words.

Sephiroth looked back down at his book and turned another page languidly. “I'm the one who initiated it, I believe,” he said, his tone calm, dispassionate.

“But…” Cloud sputtered. “I…”

Sephiroth closed his book with a snap and fixed his eyes on Cloud. “Enough. I manipulated you into giving me what I wanted. There is no need to dwell on the subject any further.”

“But…” Cloud felt himself redden. “But it was… I... I hurt you, didn’t I?”

Sephiroth gave out a short, harsh exhalation, barely a laugh. “Hurt me? Are you joking? Coming from you, that’s unexpected.”

“I know I must have hurt you. I… wanted to hurt you. Everything about this was wrong.”

“It’s interesting that somehow, each time we meet you manage to find new ways to torture yourself. I was not hurt, or at least not in any meaningful way. And even so, why should you care? Still…” He put his book down. “I agree with you that this shouldn’t happen again.”

Cloud swallowed. “Sephiroth, I swear I won’t...”

“It’s not you. I… it’s a reaction to the mako in you, I suppose. When you touched me, it…” he shivered visibly. “Even now, I can’t stand being so close to you. I can feel it inside you.”

“What does that mean, then?”

“You have to stay away from me. This is… some sort of addiction. My body merely needs to purge itself of it, I imagine. It might be unpleasant, but I’ll adapt.” He smiled humorlessly. “However, I don’t think I can do it if you’re here.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“This place seems reasonably isolated. Leave me here. I’ll be fine. Or find somewhere else to leave me. Just as long as you’re not near.”

“Sephiroth… you can’t. This is madness.”

“Is it? On the contrary. I don’t think I’ve been this sane in eons.” Sephiroth looked up at Cloud. His pupils were large, almost round, heavy with something like lust. “Do you have any idea how hard I’m fighting not to touch you right now? No. This demeans us both. If you leave, I will be perfectly fine.”

“I can’t leave you.” Cloud shook his head. “You’ll die. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You are in no state to provide for yourself.”

Sephiroth closed his eyes for a second. His fingers were trembling, Cloud noticed. “Then what?” he said, and it sounded almost like a plea.

“Maybe… I could stay away, but not too far. There are other abandoned cabins around. Perhaps I could move there. Hunt, to supplement our supplies.”That had always been how Cloud had planned to survive there, anyway. The mountains were full of life, if one knew how to find it, just as the peaks behind Nibelheim had once been. “I won’t even come in. I’ll leave food outside for you. All you’ll have to do is pick it up. Would that work?” 

Sephiroth sighed. He sounded exhausted. “Why would you do this for me? I’ve brought you nothing but pain. Why did you bring me here in the first place? Wouldn't it have been simpler to kill me?”

Cloud couldn’t answer. “I’ll go prepare,” he said “I’ll leave as soon as I can. I’ll come by to check on you as soon as I’ve found a place.”

“If you think that’s best,” said Sephiroth, and he turned away. On the armrest, his long fingers were shaking.


	6. Chapter 6

Leaving the house felt like running away. Cloud only took the bare essentials, leaving as many supplies as possible for Sephiroth. He already knew where he would stay. He’d explored the area pretty extensively over the years. It suited him, empty and snowy as it was. He knew there was another usable cabin not far. Half of it had collapsed under the weight of an avalanche, years before from the looks of it, but the rest was sturdy and serviceable. It certainly wouldn’t be one of the worst places Cloud had been forced to shelter in.

He spent the first couple days fixing up the place. There was a lot of work to do, which was good. Work kept him from worrying. In the back of his head, a voice was telling Cloud this was wrong, that it was dangerous; that he had to get back to his cabin, check that everything was alright. That Sephiroth might have found some way to leave, or worse, somehow managed to regain his strength while Cloud was playing house half an hour’s ride away. 

Before he’d left, Sephiroth had told him - ordered him, really, as though he was in any position to do so - not to come back before at least ten days had elapsed. It had sounded reasonable at the time. Now, with each passing day, it seemed more and more foolish. And yet somehow giving in to his foreboding seemed like defeat. He hesitated for a few more days, until finally and opportunity presented itself.

Cloud hadn’t started hunting in earnest, but he’d set a few traps in the woods, encountered a few larger animals that he’d let be for now. One morning, three of his traps were full, with three large hares, plump despite the season. It hadn’t even been a week, but Cloud felt this gave him a suitable reason to ride back. He wouldn’t even come in, just leave two rabbits at the door, check the house was still standing, and leave. It was a perfectly logical thing to do. And after all, Sephiroth had been the one to set the ten day limit, and he was by no means obligated to obey it.

He felt a strange relief on the ride back. For those few moments, he felt sure everything would be fine. There was no reason to think otherwise. He was just being paranoid, which was understandable given the circumstances. But soon, those doubts would dissipate, and he could go back to fixing the half-collapsed cabin in peace. The thought lifted his spirits. He felt better than he had in days, in fact.

Until he saw the house.

Even from the outside, the house looked wrong. It was utterly dark, with a stillness to it. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. Fighting the sour taste of panic in the back of his throat, Cloud dismounted and walked towards the door.

Inside, it was freezing, as though the stove had been out for days, and utterly dark. Mechically, Cloud lit one of the lamps, a smaller one that was easy to carry, and started to explore the house. Each empty room made the knot in his throat tighten further.

He found Sephiroth in the upstairs bedroom where he had first left him. He was huddled up in a corner, utterly still, curled up on himself with his arms around his folded legs. His long white hair spilled over him like a waterfall, hiding his face. There was a harsh sound, so strange and inhuman that it took Cloud a few instants to realise it was the sound of Sephiroth’s laboured, panting breath.

The room was in utter disarray, furniture overturned, anything breakable lying smashed on the ground. It looked as though a bomb had gone off.

Cloud took a cautious step forward. The figure in the corner hadn’t shown the slightest reaction to him opening the door. Only the laboured sound of his breathing showed he was alive.

“Sephiroth…?” asked Cloud, his voice sounding unexpectedly loud in the room.

There was a twitch of those long fingers. He was conscious, then.Careful not to move too close, Cloud knelt next to the prone figure.

“Sephiroth, are you…” He didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. Are you alright? That seemed grotesque, given the situation. There was nothing right about any of this. Are you alive? Are you sane? 

At a loss, Cloud extended a hand, to brush some of that hair away from Sephiroth’s face, but stopped, a few inches away. He didn’t dare. His hand was shaking, he noted. Absurd. Stupid. There was nothing this broken shell could do to him, nothing at all. So why should he be so afraid? Because he didn’t want to hurt Sephiroth? That was almost as absurd, given what Cloud had already done to him.

Moving as slowly as he could, Cloud extended his arm, letting his fingers pass through the cold silky strands of white hair. A sudden, searing image of this same hand, his hand, tangled hard in that hair, fist closed, pulling as he pressed Sephiroth down under him with all his strength burned through his mind with the intensity of a wildfire before he managed to push it away. 

He let his fingers rest lightly on Sephiroth’s brow. He felt the mako flow from him into Sephiroth, much slower than before, a trickle where before it had been a pull. Almost as though Sephiroth’s very essence was too weak to feed off him, now.

Sephiroth let out a soft, keening sound, almost inhuman, primal in its need. He angled his head to rest his face against Cloud’s hand. His entire body was trembling, shuddering.

“I’m here, Sephiroth. I’m here,” whispered Cloud.

Sephiroth’s skin was icy, covered in a slick sheen of cold sweat, his breath coming in harsh shivering puffs. He seemed to be on the verge of hypothermia. He needs to be warmed up, fast, thought Cloud, pulling swiftly to his feet to get some of the bed coverings.

Sephiroth’s hand shot up, grabbing Cloud’s tightly, holding him back.

“No,” he gasped in that same strange keening voice. “No, don’t go. Please.” His face was still hidden behind his hair, but the pain was palpable in his words. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m here.” Cloud let himself be pulled back down until he was kneeling close to Sephiroth again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Sephiroth was holding on to his hand desperately, as though it was the only thing saving him from drowning. He was still shuddering. Cloud could barely feel the energy flowing out of him, it was so faint.

“I’m here,” repeated Cloud. There was a strangled quality to Sephiroth’s breaths now, that made them sound almost like sobs. 

A small, unforgiving part of Cloud marvelled at that - demons could cry, then? - but mostly he felt a great wave of sorrow wash through him at the thought of this most powerful of beings reduced to this: helpless, weak, begging for the touch of his worst enemy. And sorrow, as well, at what they had done to each other, and what had been done to them.

“I’m here,” Cloud repeated. “I won’t go anywhere.” He shifted his position, sliding his free arm around the bigger man in a loose embrace. Sephiroth leant his head against Cloud’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. His hair had fallen away, revealing his face. He was bone white, utterly drained of colour, eyes tightly shut, his mouth contorted in an expression of bitter pain. But his breaths seemed to come a little easier now.

Cloud held him. Slowly, the small pull of mako grew stronger and stronger, until it felt more like it had the first time he’d noticed it, in the bathroom. It didn’t feel like it was taking anything away from Cloud. He didn’t feel tired, or drawn out, even though that pull was still there, small but insistant. That first time, he’d thought it was like casting a materia, that it took away a little bit of his essence, something that would then take time, or a strong stimulant, like an Ether, to replenish. But this felt different. Like they were sharing the same energy, perhaps.

He couldn’t have said how much time elapsed. Gradually, Sephiroth’s breathing eased. His grip on Cloud turned less desperate. 

Finally he spoke. “I can’t live like this,” he said, his tone calm, as though merely making an observation. “If you want to help me, then end it. End it now. Kill me.”

Cloud shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

"It would be a mercy." Sephiroth let his head fall forward, until his forehead rested on Cloud’s chest. “And who knows. I can't hear Her anymore. I might actually stay dead, this time.”

“No,” repeated Cloud. “I won't. I can't.”

Sephiroth let out a rough exhalation, somewhere between pain and a huff of laughter. “You can’t? That never seemed to stop you before,” he said dryly. “Come on, Soldier. Don’t give up. Third time's the charm?”

Cloud almost laughed despite himself. “You're completely insane.” 

“Sadly, no. I think I haven't been saner in a long time.” Slowly, Sephiroth raised his head, until he was looking straight at Cloud. “Though given the situation, I don't think going mad would be an entirely unwarranted response.”

“I’m not killing you, Sephiroth,” said Cloud softly. 

“Then what, exactly, do you propose ? This… doesn’t seem like it is going to go away.” He sounded utterly exhausted. “When you were away I… I couldn’t stand it. I needed the mako in you so badly I thought I _was_ going insane.”

“But now you feel better, don’t you?”

“Yes. When you touch me. What will you do, stay by my side and let me leech mako off you?” Sephiroth sounded as though it thought it was utterly ridiculous.

“If I must, yes,” said Cloud.

There was quiet for a while. Sephiroth was still clutching Cloud’s hand, hard enough that it might have hurt someone less enhanced than Cloud.

Sephiroth broke the silence. “Perhaps you’re the one who’s going insane,” he said, dryly. 

“Perhaps,” said Cloud in agreement. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”


	7. Chapter 7

The following days were spent in awkward, miserable silence.

They settled into a strange routine. Sephiroth mostly read in silence in the downstairs library. Occasionally he’d get up to pick another book. Cloud, wondering whether Sephiroth was perhaps trying to find some way to alleviate his condition, peeked at the growing pile of finished books growing by the side of his chair. They seemed utterly random. There were novels, history books, poetry, a copy of Loveless on top of a series of travel books. It certainly didn’t appear to be any form of deliberate research.

Cloud tried to stay as close as possible, in case Sephiroth needed him. This was harder than it seemed, since the other man made it obvious he found his presence intensely irritating. Sephiroth seemed determined to fight the need he felt for Cloud’s touch, waiting until he looked on the verge of collapsing before acknowledging he needed help. He’d sit, staring at nothing, pale as death and body tense with something like pain, his book forgotten on his lap, until he visibly couldn’t stand it any more. Then he’d finally get up, stalk angrily towards Cloud with a cold, haughty expression, his every gesture a testament to wounded pride. He’d place his hand lightly on Cloud’s bare shoulder for a few seconds, never more, the strain of not showing his reaction to the mako obvious in the harsh frown line that would form between his eyebrows.

That seemed to be all he was allowing himself, a brief touch every couple of hours. The sheer stubbornness of the man was exhausting. Each day, he seemed weaker than the last, and yet he wouldn’t stop pushing himself to the absolute breaking point. He barely ate. And as for sleep… 

Sleep was a nightmare. It was obvious Sephiroth’s need was too great for Cloud to be away for him for a whole night, and yet Cloud’s tentative offer of sharing a bedroom was met by such a withering glare that Cloud hadn’t broached the subject again. 

He settled on leaving his door open during the night. At random intervals during the night, he’d wake to find Sephiroth by his bed, gently touching a finger to his hand or arm. He was probably trying not to wake Cloud, but Cloud’s body reacted instinctively, his enhanced senses on high alert at the unexpected appearance of his old enemy. Cloud apologised clumsily the first time it happened, as though he’d done something wrong. Sephiroth said nothing. And in the dark, his face was unreadable.

It seemed obvious none of this was tenable, yet Sephiroth refused to acknowledge it. Any tentative Cloud made to talk about the problem was rebuffed with a haughty look and a sneer. 

After a couple of days of this, Cloud had enough. He felt he had to at least attempt to do something about it, or he’d go insane. 

The only thing he could think of that might offer any sort of clue were Sephiroth’s medical files. And yet looking at them seemed like a terrible imposition. He hesitated a while, before finally deciding he could not do this without Sephiroth’s knowledge.

He waited until they were both settled in the library after their brief shared lunch before broaching the subject. Sephiroth had picked up his copy of Loveless again, and was leafing through it as though looking for a specific passage, the way he often did.

Cloud cleared his throat. “Sephiroth?”

“Hmm?” Sephiroth didn’t even look up.

“I was thinking...Your files - your medical files, I mean…”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow and looked up. “Yes?” he said, managing to imbue the word with infinite contempt. He’d closed the book, leaving a finger between the pages to mark where he was.

“I have them. Hojo’s files. As well as… you know, the new ones. The ones Dr Norr and her team made.”

“Ah. And?” 

Monosyllabic as he’d been the past week, Cloud had still expected a little more reaction.

“I thought perhaps there’d be something in them. About your condition. Something that might help, perhaps?”

“I see.” Sephiroth arched his eyebrows in disdain. “I doubt that. I have a rather low opinion of science. In my experience, it has never proved particularly helpful.”

“Ah,” said Cloud, swallowing. Why did Sephiroth have to make even talking to him such an ordeal? He might as well get to the point directly. “Do you mind if I take a look at them?”

Sephiroth tilted his head to the side. “If you feel you must. I don’t see how I could possibly stop you, anyway. However, if you don’t mind, I don’t think I’ll do the same. The last time I read what doctors had to say about me, I didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.”

The last time, he burned down Nibelheim.

Cloud tried to keep his mind on the subject at hand. “So you don’t mind if I read them?”

“I don’t care,” said Sephiroth bitterly. “There’s nothing I can do about it. It seems pointless to even attempt to preserve some semblance of dignity in this situation. I don’t see what else I have left to lose.”

With these words, he went back to his book.


	8. Chapter 8

The files proved much harder to make sense of than Cloud had anticipated. The sheer number of individual reports was staggering, and they were organised using some sort of code shorthand that looked impenetrable to an untrained eye. There were thousands over thousands, several per day over Sephiroth's entire lifetime.

Despairing of making any sense of the codes, Cloud started from some of the earlier files, opening them at random, to try to get an idea of how they were organised. It made sense, also, to try to get as much background information as possible. 

The very first ones seemed to consist in genetic analysis of the JENOVA organism, then it skipped to various impenetrable experimental reports that seemed to be preparatory tests for the creation of a hybrid with JENOVA cells. This was a story he knew well. Nonetheless, the dense notes seemed to carry an ominous weight. This was the origin of all their suffering - this data, that looked so deceptively harmless when arranged in neat tables and diagrams, had led to death and destruction, had almost led to the end of the world.

Cloud didn’t think this would be where he’d find answers. He knew this part well enough. He skipped forward a couple of thousand files at a time, opening files at random to get an idea of where he was chronologically.

Gestational reports. Endless images of an embryo, looking deceptively human, growing within the womb. He’d had no name at the time, Cloud noticed. Just a code, S. Cloud wondered idly who’d thought of the name Sephiroth to begin with. Hojo, perhaps. Hojo’s name was everywhere in the files, in footnotes, in citations, embedded in every comment.The sheer amount of work the man seemed capable of was daunting.

Cloud skipped forward further. Now there were growth charts. Physiological data. Developmental milestones, the kind Cloud imagined tender parents recording on film as precious memories, were dispatched in curt, jargon filled notes.

> [ μ ] - εγλ 79.12.03  
>  Infant development report n. S-DR43
> 
> Infant shows satisfactory increase in grip strength. Gaze is fixed when presented with appropriate stimulus.1 Infant is responsive to vocal stimuli, with appropriate associated neural responses. Vocalisations are spontaneous, gaining in richness. Infant is showing a marked increase in usage of consonants. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 Stimuli used during experiment included: disc, black and white; disc, red and green; ball, red; animal-shaped toy, stuffed, brown. See list attached.

There was something chilling about it. Cloud had no idea what he’d expected from Sephiroth’s early years. Privilege, perhaps, as befitting someone of his stature. Instead, everything seemed bare, sterile. Cloud couldn’t imagine how he’d thought there could be anything useful in those files.

Growing increasingly discouraged, he plodded on, scrolling down the endless list of files, opening some at random. They were mind-numbingly repetitive. Growth charts. Physical examinations. Neurological examinations. All numbers, dry and reductive. Performance analyses, the data gathered from various simulations that seemed to start as soon as Sephiroth was able to stand. But occasionally, certain paragraphs would stand out, fragments that showed this was not some machine that was being refined and tested, but a child.

> [ μ ] - εγλ 81.07.12  
>  Experiment report - S-E29(c)
> 
> Preliminary results: Failure of experiment, due to lack of cooperation of subject. Detailed report as follows:
> 
>   * 10:10 Subject was presented with experimental protocol. Subject displayed an immediate reluctance to comply with experimental protocol.1
>   * 10:45 After a suitable amount of time, subject was disciplined.2 Subject still showed signs of noncooperation, but returned to task.
>   * 10:48 Subject stopped work abruptly and requested the presence of Pr Gast. When this was refused, subject expressed considerable distress and refused to return to the task assigned.
>   * 11:05 Subject requested to be given a personal possession not relevant to experimental protocol.3
>   * 11:24 An second attempt was made to discipline subject and make him adhere to experimental protocol. This lead to a violent display of emotion, accompanied by screaming and crying.4
> 

> 
> Outcome and conclusions:  
>  Subject proceeded to continue crying throughout the time allowed by the experimental protocol, therefore invalidating any result and wasting the operator’s time. Suggest experimental protocol be tried again at a later date.
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 Experimental aim was to measure mathematical competency. Non-symbolic dot arrays showing values from 1-100 were presented to subject with instructions to order them in increasing numerical order. No explanation was offered by subject for this refusal other than the single word “ _boring_ ”. Other intelligible vocalisation directed either at the experimental protocol or the operator included: “ _no_ ”, “ _don’t want_ ” and “ _go away_ ”.  
>  2In compliance with Pr Gast's recommendation that discipline remain age-appropriate, very little force was applied. Given lack of effect of such discipline, perhaps Pr Hojo's suggestion that "age-appropriate" has little meaning given the exceptional nature of the specimen should be reconsidered.  
>  3 Possession consisted in animal-shaped toy, stuffed, brown. Subject kept referring to this object by the nonsensical syllables “ _ba-wa_ ” despite repeatedly having been instructed not to. See previous notes on the subject, as well as Hojo, Jones & Miller, “Possible problematic attachment: an observation of Subject S’s interactions with inanimate representation of non-human animal”, _Shinra Internal Research Report_ n°75, second quarter 1981, pp. 1562-1583.; and : Hojo et al., “The stuffed dog problem: a reappraisal - the semantics of ‘ba-wa’”, _Shinra Journal of Applied Psychology_ , n°13, fall 1981, pp.31-56.  
>  4 Observer concluded this behaviour could be construed to be what is commonly referred to in child development literature as a “temper tantrum”. More research is needed to confirm this hypothesis.

Cloud smiled a little despite himself. Sephiroth must have been a little under two years old. There was something a little reassuring in the idea that even the dreaded demon of Wutai hadn’t been a perfect test subject from birth. He could just picture Hojo’s scientists, flustered, desperately trying to control an enraged toddler.

He scrolled down a few years and, at random, opened another folder. Again, endless medical exams and experimental results. The only readable parts were the rare behavioural notes, and these were generally much shorter than the endless physical development charts and tables.

> [ μ ] - εγλ 83.04.28  
>  Observation report S-O9201 re: development of spatial awareness
> 
> Representational drawings : accuracy and technical proficiency.
> 
> Subject S was instructed to produce an image, using colour pencils and ordinary paper. Subject drew a house1 that was, though atypical when compared to usual productions by children in the subject’s age group, very advanced, showing unusual fineness of detail and an interesting sense of colour. 
> 
> Detailed analysis of psychological clues to be found in this drawing will follow.2
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 See attached file.   
>  2 This observer however would like to take this opportunity to express some reservations as to the environment in which the child is supposed to perform. This observer took the initiative of attaching the end result (drawing) to the wall, an action aimed at reinforcing self-esteem of subject and encouraging further production. Drawing was later removed on the orders of Pr Hojo due to “a lack of realism”. This observer disagrees with Pr Hojo’s decision to remove the artwork from the wall. In her professional opinion, such a gesture from an authority figure could have deleterious consequences on the subject's self-esteem. Also, it was a very pretty drawing.

Idly, Cloud opened the attached file. It was indeed a child’s drawing of a house, or rather the idea of the house, in the way children draw. It was strange. The lines were oddly precise for a child’s drawing, and yet the entire house seemed to twist in the wind, its walls wavy, its windows rounded and irregular. Strange towers rose from the house at odd angles, like the stalks of a plant reaching for sunlight. There was something a little sad about it, although Cloud couldn’t have said what. But the unnamed observer had been right. It was pretty, in a slightly unsettling way.

Cloud‘s mother had also once pinned his clumsy artwork to the walls of their house. In fact, some of them were probably still on the kitchen wall when the house burned down. When Sephiroth burned it down. When Sephiroth killed her. No matter what happened, no matter what he learned, nothing could change that.

Cloud realised with a start he’d been staring at nothing for several minutes, lost in thought. 

He went back to the files. As the years went on, the files started to include even more data. Combat training reports. Academic results. The sheer volume was overwhelming. And there again, Hojo was everywhere. His assessment was the one that counted. His opinion was seen as final. Where there once had been a small number of dissenting voices, like the unnamed observer who had liked Sephiroth’s drawing, now every writer seemed determined to include as many fawning references to Hojo as humanly possible. The professor had probably managed to replace the majority of his staff by adoring sycophants. It made for boring, repetitive reading. There was only so much self-congratulation over a child’s academic results Cloud could take.

He yawned, and stole a glance at Sephiroth. His eyes were closed, his posture relaxed. He was sleeping, it seemed. In repose, his face betrayed the tiredness he usually tried to hide. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheeks that had never been there before. Instead of making him look older, it made him look younger. Less ageless, somehow. More human.

Taking care not to make any noise, Cloud put down the viewer and softly padded closer. Rufus Shinra had said once, during a meeting, when he was making his case to the committee, that Sephiroth was always meant to be a weapon, not a person. It was true he seemed to have been treated like an experiment, a pet project progressing even beyond his creator’s wildest hopes. But reading between the lines, all he’d been was a child, really, with what seemed like normal needs and emotions, forced to perform again and again for the uncaring adults who watched him.

Sephiroth sighed in his sleep. His expression turned pained for a few seconds, then eased slightly. He looked so tired like this. 

Very gently, so as not to wake him, Cloud placed the palm of his hand to the curve of Sephiroth’s cheekbone. He felt that little pull, like a thread being unwound, and Sephiroth’s skin seemed to turn a little warmer.

Sephiroth sighed again, but it was a totally different sound this time, pleasure rather than pain. Still deeply asleep, he pressed his face harder against Cloud’s hand, like a cat looking to be petted. A little colour was gradually coming back to his cheeks. Cloud watched in silence, motionless, not breaking contact.

It was oddly peaceful. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, standing, watching Sephiroth breathe, feeling that small, steady pull of energy between them. He couldn’t have put words on what he was feeling. Something like regret, perhaps.

Then Sephiroth started stirring, and Cloud pulled his hand away softly. When Sephiroth woke fully a few moments later, Cloud was back in his chair, viewer in his lap. He didn’t look up as Sephiroth stood and stretched with a small, contented yawn, and left the room without a word.


	9. Chapter 9

Sephiroth wasn’t getting any better, but his state seemed to have stabilised. Gradually, both of them got used to this strange ritual between them, this periodic silent touch. Cloud grew better at reading when Sephiroth would need him, and increasingly, he’d be the one to stand up and offer his hand instead of waiting for Sephiroth to lose whatever internal battle he was waging and acknowledge his need. It worked, even though Sephiroth seemed slightly surprised by the gesture at first.

At the same time, Cloud still couldn’t quite get over the novelty of seeing Sephiroth doing ordinary human things. It was impossible to reconcile with the image still burned into his mind of the god of destruction he’d encountered above Midgar, the one-winged angel of death filled with hatred and malice.

There was something utterly strange about watching him curl up in a chair and read, his hair tied back in a casual knot to keep it out of the way, wearing Barett’s faded old clothes. The first time he’d seen Sephiroth comb his wet hair after a shower had been a shock. It seemed like such a mundane activity for such an extraordinary creature, like watching a tiger groom itself like a housecat.

And so, despite telling himself he shouldn’t, Cloud kept stealing glances at him when they were together in the library. He hoped the other man didn’t notice too much. Sephiroth rarely looked up from the books he read voraciously. Occasionally, though, he’d smile at what he read, or scoff and shake his head as though he didn’t agree about something. Other times he would look out the window, watching the snow falling of the great fir trees outside. He seemed deep in thought, and Cloud couldn’t help wonder what he was thinking about.

Cloud kept reading the files. He tried to skip less, now that he’d reached the point where Sephiroth was leaving childhood. Some of the events described in the various mission reports were things he recalled from reading newspaper accounts, breathlessly, as a child. He hadn’t realised at the time Sephiroth had been that young, barely entering his teens, as he commanded armies. 

The military reports were easier to understand than the medical files. Those seemed to become increasingly bizarre. Evidently, Hojo, having realised Sephiroth wasn’t going to develop pure Cetra traits the way he’d initially hoped, was now prodding and poking at his creation to try to determine what, exactly, he’d made. Test after test attempted to figure out the limits of his resistance, to cold, heat, hypoxia, blood-loss, hunger, fatigue, pain. They sounded less like experiments than like pure sadism, and yet there was never any sign that Sephiroth did anything but cooperate.

They must have had him so well trained, thought Cloud. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could stand being subjected to such horrors, over and over again.

And yet, it got worse. As soon Sephiroth started to show signs of puberty, Hojo seemed to start speculating on the possibilities of breeding his specimen in the future. He wrote reams and reams on every physical change as Sephiroth matured, with a prurient curiosity that sent chills down Cloud’s spine.

But then, Hojo’s ambitions were somehow thwarted. Apparently, despite developing normally, Sephiroth refused to acknowledge any spontaneous interest in sex. And even that became the subject of experiments, each more bizarre than the last.

After a while, Cloud had to look away from the reader, disturbed and disgusted by what he was reading.

Sephiroth was looking at him from the other side of the small room with a strange, almost amused expression.

“Why do you look horrified, all of a sudden?” he asked.

Cloud felt himself blush slightly. “I’m sorry. I just… I was looking at an experiment report.”

“Oh? Really? I would have thought you, of all people, would be used to Hojo and his little games. Which one was it?”

“Just a test. It’s just that… I found it disturbing, that’s all.”

“Show me,” said Sephiroth. When Cloud hesitated, Sephiroth held out his hand. “I don’t think there’s anything in those files that could surprise me anymore. Give me the viewer.”

Cloud reluctantly handed the viewer, with the file still opened on it.

> [ μ ] - εγλ 1995  
>  Experiment report S-E17288(b)
> 
> Preliminary physical exam confirms subject is a well-developed 15 year old male, presenting signs of ongoing puberty. Sexual organs seem functional, hormonal levels are within normal range.  
>  The aim of this experimental protocol was to investigate apparent hypoactive sexual desire in subject, first observed by Pr. Hojo as part of the ongoing observation of socialisation of subject.
> 
> Nature of stimulus: visual stimuli of sexual nature.1
> 
> Stimuli were shown in following order:
> 
>   1. mildly explicit
>   2. explicit
>   3. very explicit
> 
> Subject was instructed to keep his attention on each material given for no less than one minute (60 seconds), as measured by timer. Subject was informed when it was appropriate to move on to next material, but was instructed he could survey a particular material longer if he chose.2
> 
> Results
> 
> The results were mostly consistent, no matter the nature of the stimulus, so they shall be reported in an aggregated form.  
> 
> 
>     1. Subject reported no instance of sexual arousal verbally.
>     2. Physical markers of sexual arousal were absent.
>     3. Elevated heartbeat, at first taken to indicate possible sexual response, was established when compared to baseline to be standard fight-or-flight response subject S occasionally displays in some experimental settings.
>     4. Subject showed no differentiation of response according to stimulus, except in the case of category (e) other, which elicited reactions outside experimental protocols, as described below.
> 
> Abnormal reaction to materials classified as (e) other 3) very explicit
> 
> Subject seemed to react negatively to the material in this category.3 Subject threw tablet containing material to the floor, damaging the viewer4 and left laboratory G-13 where the experiment took place, despite verbal instruction not to interrupt experimental protocol. Subject was found and instructed by Pr Hojo to resume the experiment. When subjected a second time to this material, the subject adhered to experimental protocol satisfactorily. The subject showed no sexual response, but a marked increase in the symptoms associated with the fight-or-flight responses described above was observed.
> 
> Conclusions:
> 
> Subject displays a lack of interest in sexuality. This is notable in a healthy 15 year old male who would be expected to show exacerbated sexual urges due to puberty. No physical abnormality having been observed, absence of response is assumed to be psychological in nature. 
> 
> This has been determined to be non critical. In the opinion of Pr Hojo, even though this constitutes a regrettable imperfection in the specimen, this defect should not be detrimental to the implementation of a breeding program, since gametes can if needed be obtained surgically.
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1 Stimuli of various nature were provided: (a) heterosexual, standard; (b) homosexual, standard; (c ) heterosexual, fetishistic/sadomasochistic; (d) homosexual, fetishistic/sadomasochistic; (e) other.  
>  2 Subject did not express any desire to do so and would without fail discard materials as soon as he was informed he could do so.  
>  3 Material in (e) other 3) very explicit consisted in sexual imagery with non-human elements, and/or violence and gore, as well as representations of underage humans, which were obtained in accordance with directive SH-853 and therefore do not constitute a felony when used within an experimental setting.  
>  4 See attached expense request n° S-1387-NH12, request for tablet computer, model SHINRA 750 or later.
> 
> 


“Hmm,” said Sephiroth, his eyes rapidly scanning the page. “I don’t think I remember this one specifically. It was part of some passing obsession Hojo had with my sexual maturation, I think. It's hardly one of the most disturbing things he had me do. What do you find so bad about it?”

“Do you mean apart from the fact his so-called experiment involved showing what sounds like some highly objectionable pornography to a child?”

“I wasn’t a child at 15, not any more than you were when you joined Shinra. And I’d already spent a fair amount of time in the company of soldiers. I’d encountered pornography before.”

“Sexy pictures cut out of magazines, perhaps. Not whatever this was!” Cloud was trying not to think of what he’d read. Non-human. Gore. Underage. What sort of sick individual would make someone sit and watch such things while calmly recording their reaction? No wonder Sephiroth had thrown the viewer to the ground.

Sephiroth thought for a few moments. “I think this was one of those times when Hojo was losing patience with me. He’d go to extremes to get the results he wanted, sometimes.”

“Yes, well I don’t know how he expected to get any result from this!”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Cloud felt anger rise in him. “Did he have any idea how people work? How could anyone have any sort of positive reaction in a setting like this? And from that, he concludes that you’re somehow _defective_?”

“Oh? Is that what you’re upset about?” There was a light, teasing note in his voice Cloud had never imagined could be there. He’d heard Sephiroth sound teasing before, but it had always been tinged with cruelty. Now he just sounded amused. “You remind me of friends I had. They got very angry about things like that.”

“You weren’t angry?”

Sephiroth shrugged. “At the time, it didn’t really occur to me to be. This was just another test. Everything was a test. It was the only form of validation I knew. And I’d failed. I hadn’t produced suitable results. I probably felt shame, not anger.”

He paused. “Later, I was angry, yes. I was angry at myself for having believed what Hojo said. Whenever he told me I was a failure at something, I believed it. He was the only authority I’d ever known.”

“But later, I realised he was wrong about a lot of things. And I learned that it was sometimes profitable to be spectacularly bad at certain things, especially if they were things Hojo didn’t particularly care about. Hojo would be satisfied his lack of interest was justified and move on to other things. He was always happy to label anything he didn’t find easy to quantify as non relevant.” There was a small, almost mischievous smile, dancing on his lips. “I think in many cases, it worked in my favour.”

“But you… you were so strong. You could have crushed him like a bug, any time you wanted!”

“No. He was everything I had. I hated him, but I didn’t know how to be anything without his approval. I was too weak.”

“I’m glad I killed him,” said Cloud, more fiercely than he intended to.

Sephiroth smiled. He looked amused. He paused for a second, as though thinking about something, then spoke: “Zack Fair was right about you.”

“Zack?” Cloud blinked.

“Yes. He wanted me to watch out for you. He said you were stronger than you looked. That you were brave. That you had a good soul.”

“What, me?” stammered Cloud.

“He also said I’d have no problem knowing which one you were.” Sephiroth smiled, not unkindly. “The one that looks like a small flustered chocobo, he said.”

As Cloud looked at him in shock, Sephiroth ruffled Cloud’s hair, once, and walked out.

Cloud sat, stunned. Only after a while did he realise his own hand was on his hair, right where Sephiroth had touched it.


	10. Chapter 10

The following day, the weather cleared up. It had been snowing steadily for days, the wind howling around the house relentlessly, shaking the tall fir trees and blowing white swirls of snow until a snowdrift accumulated on the side of the house, burying the window at the end of the corridor and blocking all light in that direction.

But at some point during the afternoon, the wind quieted down, and they both looked up from what they were reading, surprised at the sudden silence. Sephiroth closed his book, and stood to look outside. 

“The sun is coming out,” he remarked.

Cloud went to join him at the window, so close his hand brushed a few of the silver strands that fell down Sephiroth’s back. He hadn’t tied it back, today. Cloud had noticed. Cloud tried not to stare, but he found himself irresistibly drawn to every gesture, every silent step, every sigh emitted by this being that had no business being so human, so undoubtedly flesh and blood.

It was true, the sun had come out. The heavy clouds of the previous days were slowly rolling away.

“I wonder…” said Sephiroth, almost tentatively. “Could I take a walk outside?”

“Outside?”

“Not far. I miss the fresh air.”

Cloud hadn’t thought of that. Cloud hadn’t thought a lot about much, if he was honest with himself. He’d known he had to take care of Sephiroth away from civilization, so he came to this place. Everything else he’d done had been unplanned, reacting to events as they happened, solving one problem after the other. Never had he given himself time to think about what he was actually doing, where this was going to lead, how they were both supposed to live now.

In fact, he’d never thought of this as any kind of life. More as a suicide, long and painfully drawn out. Burying himself alive to keep the world safe. He’d never imagined anything beyond that. 

And now this place had become a prison of sorts, even it wasn’t entirely clear to him which one of them was being kept prisoner here.

“We can go for a walk, if you like,” he heard himself say.

Sephiroth nodded. “That would be nice.”

* * *

The cold outside was still biting, despite the bleak light of the sun, and Sephiroth shivered as soon as he stepped outside. Cloud had given his warmest coat, and Sephiroth wore it wrapped around his shoulders, like a short cape, since it was much too small. It wasn’t a very warm coat. Ever since the mako injections, Cloud was mostly impervious to cold.

It must have been the same for Sephiroth, because he looked puzzled, looking at his hands with something like wonder.

“If it’s too cold, we can go back,” offered Cloud.

“No. I can walk.”

Cloud said nothing, just started down the partially buried path, his boots crunching in the snow. He could remember how it felt, to not be enhanced. To be weak. Despite all his training, he’d never really managed to build up that much strength, before Hojo stuck him inside a mako tube and changed him forever. He imagined Sephiroth had never felt that way, vulnerable to ordinary dangers like cold or fatigue, small and weak and easily breakable.

“We’ll go this way,” he said. “There’s a clearing. Sometimes I build a fire there.”

He walked slower than he needed to, mindful of Sephiroth following him with short, measured steps, his breathing rapid and shallow, as though he were already out of breath. They walked in silence through trees half-buried in snow, the light shining through the icy branches in shafts of gold. It was beautiful. It felt like home, like winter in Nibelheim, his favourite season.

They reached his clearing. The snow wasn’t high there, the trees prevented it from building up, and you could still dimly make out the shape of the ring of stones Cloud had built there.

He heard Sephiroth sit down heavily next to him while he dug, pushing the snow away to reveal the soil and the old cinders of his previous fires. There was a trick to building a fire in the snow, if you didn’t want it to risk the embers being quenched by water. Cloud had done this so many times it was second nature to him.

“I’ll gather some wood,” he said, and Sephiroth nodded. He had wrapped himself tight inside Cloud’s coat, keeping his hands inside, but apart from that, he didn’t seem to be too uncomfortable. He was looking up at the sky.

Cloud walked round the clearing, gathering firewood with practiced hands. He arranged it carefully, making sure it would have enough air, enough kindling, and lit it. He hadn’t wanted to use a materia, so he’d brought good, sturdy matches, and it only took him a few tries to get the fire going.

They didn’t talk, at first. The only sounds were the warm crackling of the fire, and the soft pillowy crunch of packets of snow sliding off branches. The fire felt warm against Cloud’s skin as he tended it carefully.

Sephiroth was still looking at the sky darkening over the forest slowly. He had a small, wistful smile on his face.

“Are you thinking about the past?” asked Cloud  
suddenly, his voice sounding loud to his own ears.

Sephiroth started slightly, as though jostled out of a daydream.

“Yes,” he said, and shook his head ruefully. “I was thinking of my old comrades. My friends. I seem to spend a lot of time thinking about them, these days.”

“SOLDIERs?” asked Cloud.

“Yes, of course. You knew them, didn’t you? Genesis Rhapsodos. Angeal Hewley.”

“I knew of them,” said Cloud. “Zack would talk a lot about them. And I have… some images of them in my mind, but those were Zack’s memories, I think. I never really had a chance to get to know them.” He had faced them both with Zack at Modeoheim, too, but the memory of that horror was better left unsaid.

“I liked Zack,” said Sephiroth with a fond smile. “He was younger, though, and I didn’t feel like I could trust him the way I did Angeal and Genesis.”

“Yes. Zack said the three of you were close. I…” Cloud hesitated for a second, then thought he might as well be honest, given all that had happened between them. “I used to ask Zack what you were like, back when I was a trooper. He never said much. He said he didn’t think he knew you that well, that only Angeal and Genesis ever got close enough.”

“That’s probably true. And even then... it took a lot of effort on their part, I believe. I didn’t know what they wanted from me, at first. I’d never had friends.”

Sephiroth picked up a branch from the ground and poked it into the fire, making it spark. “This is a good fire,” he remarked. “Genesis would have liked it. He loved fire. It was his favourite element to use. And whenever we were on a mission somewhere and there was a campfire to be built, Genesis would insist on building it himself. He said no one else understood fire the way he did. It was easier to let him have his way than to argue.”

He smiled to himself. “Genesis would have hated the snow, though. He always complained whenever it snowed. I think it simply wasn’t dramatic enough for him. Too quiet. Angeal was the one who liked snow. Forests. Mountains. I think he would have liked this place.” He looked up at the sky again. The first stars were starting to appear. “Genesis was like fire, quick and passionate. Angeal was like water, deep and powerful. There was a balance between them that was truly beautiful.”

“Is it true?” asked Cloud, a little bashfully. “That they were a couple?”

Sephiroth nodded. “Yes. Although… at first, I didn’t realise. The very concept was foreign to me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I had only a very theoretical knowledge of such things, and it had never occurred to me it could apply to beings such as us. And I was young. Much younger that I realised. But the love between them was beautiful. Even I could see that. And they taught me a lot. They shared with me some of what they had, and… it changed a lot of things, for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… perhaps this is a story I’d rather keep to myself, if you don’t mind. You won’t find it in the files. We managed to keep it a secret from Hojo. Small victories.”

He poked the fire again. The sparks made the world look red, for an instant. 

“But…” He smiled, almost teasing. “If you were wondering whether what happened between us had been my first encounter of that nature, rest assured it wasn’t.”

Cloud blushed. He had wondered, actually, when he’d read in Hojo’s files how barren Sephiroth’s life actually had been, and it had been worrying him. He still found it hard to forgive himself for what he’d done that morning, and the possibility that Sephiroth might not even have known it should have gone differently had been eating at him.

Seph laughed. The sound was not unfriendly. 

Cloud looked at the fire, hoping its light helped conceal that he was blushing. “Is it true that you knew… you know, back then. That I was… attracted to you.”

Sephiroth shook his head. “No. I’ve never been good at telling this sort of thing. I knew who you were, because Zack kept talking about you. Genesis said it sounded like you were infatuated with me. But then again, Genesis always liked to tease. I never took anything he said at face value. But…” He paused. “Later on, when you faced me, with my blood within you… It was as though I could see right into you. I could feel what you felt for me. The fear. The hatred. And how, despite everything, you wanted me. There was something intoxicating about the mix of it.”

They both fell silent for a few moments.

“But…” started Cloud. “You can’t tell what I’m thinking now, can you?”

“What if I could?” said Sephiroth, turning to him with a small, slightly wicked smile. 

Cloud’s eyes went wide for a second, as he considered the idea. Sephiroth laughed again.

“I’m not about to admit I can’t. This is much more amusing.”

Cloud snorted. “You said Genesis liked to tease? He can’t possibly have been worse than you.”

“Oh, he was much worse. You have no idea. Particularly when he was looking for a fight. He could be vicious, in fact, if he thought it could get him what he wanted. But he wasn’t always like that.” 

Sephiroth’s voice turned soft. Cloud didn’t think Sephiroth was even talking to him anymore. He was reminiscing to himself, in slow, quiet tones. “When it was just the three of us, he was very considerate. Kind, even. At least, that's how he was with me.” 

He paused. “It’s true that at first I wasn’t very experienced with such things. It made me feel uncomfortable. Clumsy. They took such care with me that sometimes it felt like it was almost too much. I didn’t understand, at first. They treated me as though they thought I was fragile. It seemed absurd. I thought nothing in this world could break me, not after what I’d been through.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I think I was just very young. And I’d never really encountered friendship before. Or tenderness.”

Sephiroth’s voice trailed off. He raised one hand to his eyes, and Cloud looked away. He felt like he’d intruded on something he was never meant to see. 

He would have liked to be able to do something. To put his arm around Sephiroth and pull him close as he wept, silently, for his lost friends. Maybe Cloud could have wept too, then. He’d lost so much, and he had never truly been able to mourn.

Instead, he sat in silence, looking at the fire slowly die out. Night had fallen. The air was starting to turn bitterly cold.

“We should go back,” he said after a while.

“Yes, you’re right,” said Sephiroth, sounding more like himself again.

He stood up, unsteady on his feet. Silently, Cloud offered his hand, and felt the familiar pull of mako as Sephiroth took it. It wasn’t unpleasant. And Sephiroth’s hand in his felt reassuringly warm and solid, and suddenly he didn’t want to let go. His eyes were stinging in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke from the fire.

He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. It had always been like that. He’d never known how to put words on what he was feeling, not even in his own head. 

He realised his grip on Sephiroth’s hand had changed, without him meaning to. Now their hands were interlaced, intertwined, and he was holding on tight, as though he didn’t want to let Sephiroth go.

He could feel Sephiroth looking down at him, surprised, probably, at this sudden gesture. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t know what he would have said if he’d looked into Sephiroth’s eyes at that moment.

“Let’s go back,” he said, as though everything was normal, as though he wasn’t holding the hand of a man he’d killed twice, as though he didn’t still bear the scar the Masamune left when impaling him in the center of his chest. But the hand in his was the hand of a man, not the hand of a demon or a monster. It felt like flesh, warm, soft without the calluses left by holding a sword every day.

He didn’t let go, and Sephiroth didn’t pull away, as they walked back to the house in silence, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. This is what this story did to me. All this and finally we advance to…  
> hand-holding.
> 
> *bangs head on keyboard*
> 
> Next chapter, which I’m taking my time with because I have many Feelings about it, they should finally get to do more. Finally. If Cloud behaves and stops second-guessing himself all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> uminoarawashi at tumblr.com if you want to chat. I don’t post anything specific, but I’m very open to fic recs or random fandom related musings!


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